Sudden appearance of a random person

The human stepped from what would have once been an alleyway next to a supermarket. Anything of value in there had long since vanished, taken to be either consumed or bartered.

“Don’t you know that little girls shouldn’t be wandering around on their own…it could be dangerous…” He steps out of the shadow more, and a wicked blade reflects the pale moonlight. Noises from further inside the alley betray the fact that he isn’t alone.

Aristomache decided to have some fun at this stupid humans expense. She had always been chided for having a warped sense of humour. Feigning fear, she cowered a little, pandering to the ego of the ‘big bad human’. She could kill him in any amount of ways she wanted. One of her favourites was to literally scare a human to death. Read their mind, find out their greatest fear, then inject images into their head. Make them hallucinate to death, gibbering in fear, soiling themselves as they imagine being eaten alive my rats, or burnt to death, or drowned, or falling to their death, or suffocating. One had been afraid of clowns…how bizarre. Deciding to improvise, she let the human appear to be in control.

Her moves are fluid. Graceful. She throws the ring leader the length of the alley into a pile of refuse. He will be kept for last. The first one to die, isn’t even aware that he is dead, as his nose is pushed backwards into his brain when

Aristomache smashes her head into his face. The second dies with a look of surprise on his face. Her hand jabs into his throat, severing his windpipe. He dies, gurgling, struggling to breathe on the rubble strewn floor. The alleyway that had been their sanctuary, traps them. Aristomache blocks the only exit, and despite her being outnumbered 9 to 1, they know that they will not leave here alive. 2 rush her, knives flashing, trying to cut into her. A loud crack as she breaks an arm, folding it back on itself. The knife is pushed into the knife owners chest, severing the aorta. He is dead before he can scream. A pivot on the balls of her feet, and she dodges the clumsy thrust from number 2. A quick twist of his head, and suddenly he is looking behind him, while his body faces forward. 4 dead in a matter of seconds, and swiftly followed by numbers 5, 6, 7 and 8. Number 9 soils himself as she skips towards him. He dies, crying, begging for mercy. Silly human. Number 10 tries a different tactic, deciding to throw things at her, hoping to score a lucky hit on what he still thinks is a teenage girl. Albeit a psychotic, murderous teenage girl… A beer bottle smashes against the side of Aristomache’s head. Cheeky sod! She returns the favour by throwing a dumpster on him. A dull boom as it lands is intermingled with a soft ‘splutch’ as he bursts like a ripe melon underneath it. The last, number 11, the instigator of his gangs demise, tries to make a run for it. She lets him get almost to the end of the alley, where she catches him. No quick death for this one. If he had left her alone to enjoy her stroll, they would’ve lived a little while longer.

“What’s the matter, don’t you want to play anymore? You seemed more than eager a minute ago?” She pushes him against the wall of the alley, feeling her fingers dig though his flesh. He is so scared that he doesn’t feel the pain. All he can think of, is how could a teenage girl, do what she has just done? “Who ARE you!?!” His eyes are pleading, but he knows that when he hears the answer, it will be the last thing he ever hears. “Not ‘WHO’ silly, ‘WHAT’ would be a more accurate question…” She leans closer to his ear, and whispers her true lineage…

His eyes widen in absolute terror. He too soils himself. The last thing he sees before death claims him for his own, is her hand entering his chest and pulling out his heart…

She wipes the gore from her hand on the dead humans’ clothes. That was fun. Humans are so fragile. One slap and they die. Shame really, they would make good pets otherwise, but you just couldn’t discipline them.

“Was there any real need for that, baby cousin?”

Aristomache turns her head, and finds the source of the voice. There, sat on the dumpster, looking at the arm and leg protruding from below, is her cousin Adam. A true War Spirit in every sense of the word, his sword in his lap, his helmet by his side. He looks like death/war/murder/vengeance all rolled into one. His favourite pastime is baking.

The End

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